Page 45 of The Rookie's Second Chance

"Jake," one of the EMTs started, the same one who always responded when we were on duty. "We'll take care of her. Follow in your car."

I was about to argue, but the look in his eye stopped me. That look said he needed the space to work to keep Kayla safe. So I let them go, my hands balling into fists as I followed the wail of the siren to the hospital.

The sterile smell of the emergency room was a slap in the face. I gave Kayla's name to the nurse at the desk, my voice hoarse, my badge held out like a shield.

"I'm sorry, only family can go in right now," the nurse said, not unkindly.

I wanted to scream, to demand they let me back there, to see with my own eyes that Kayla was alive and going to stay that way. Instead, I slumped into the hard plastic chair, the fight draining out of me. I was a cop; I knew the procedure, but that did nothing to quell the fear eating at me.

The van, the hoodie, the crowbar — they blurred in my mind, but what remained sharp, what cut at me, was the sight of Kayla on the ground. And the thought that kept circling back around: what if I lose her again? I couldn't fucking bear it.

I buried my face in my hands, waiting for news, any news. Because until I saw her, heard her voice, I was holding out hope. And in this sterile place of white walls and too-bright lights, hope was all I was clinging to.

I paced the length of the waiting room like a caged animal, each step a drumbeat in the otherwise hushed space. Goddamn hours ticked by, marked only by the shuffle of nurses’ shoes and the distant beeping of machines. I felt like I was stuck in some cruel limbo, waiting for any sign that Kayla would be okay.

Finally, a doctor in blue scrubs approached, the look on his face reading neutral. My heart lodged in my throat.

“Officer Barrows?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me. How's Kayla? Is she—"

"She's stable for now. But the head injury is... it's serious. We're monitoring her closely."

Stable. That word should've brought relief, but it hung there, incomplete. "What the hell does 'serious' mean? What are you waiting for?"

His sigh told me he'd had this talk too many times. "We're checking for any signs of bleeding in the brain. It could be hours before we know the full extent and whether she'll require surgery."

"And the 'or'?" My voice was a low growl; I couldn't help it.

He paused, weighing his words. "Let's just wait for the results, officer."

I gave him a sharp nod that said, 'I'm holding you to that,' and rattled off my cell number. "Her folks are gone, and there's no siblings. I'm her partner. And her... friend." I choked a little on the last word, a fear and unspoken truths lodging there.

He jotted the number down and nodded. "We'll call with any updates, officer."

As soon as I stepped out of the hospital, the night air hit me, sobering my spiraling thoughts. The fucker who did this was still out there. And I'd be damned if I was going to sit around playing the waiting game.

Back at the station, I kicked open the door to the evidence room and started yanking files. Ethan's name popped up in too many of them. Kayla had been digging deep, and now she was lying in a hospital bed because of it.

I spread out everything on the table. My eyes flicked over the documents, searching for anything that would lead me to him. I didn't care about what dirt I might dig up on my sister anymore. Kayla was in the crosshairs. Even Mandy had been dragged into this mess.

I ran my hands over my face, feeling the stubble and exhaustion. But I shoved it down. Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford — not while Kayla was fighting for her life, not while that son of a bitch was out there, thinking he got the upper hand.

Kayla wouldn't quit — she never did. And I sure as hell wasn't about to start now.

Dawn was breaking when I finally leaned back in my chair, the first rays of sunlight creeping through the blinds, casting bars of light across my desk. I hadn't found the smoking gun yet, but I was piecing it together, bit by bit. Somewhere amidst the sea of information, a path that would lead me straight to him.

I closed my eyes for a moment, envisioning Kayla's face, the fire in her eyes when she was on to something. That same fire was kindling inside me now, a blaze that wouldn't be extinguished until I brought this fucker to justice.

And I would. For Kayla. For all of us.

Kayla had left her research easy for me to access—message boards, emails, social media location stamps. The first thing that struck me was a series of emails between Ethan and someone from The Vault. They were laced with references to events and people that weren't explicitly named but implied a deeper, darker layer to their college days. It was like reading code, and I could tell that Ethan was deeply involved yet trying to distance himself at the same time.

In another series of emails and forum transcripts, his tone shifted to defensive, a hint of fear underlying his words when the topic veered too close to some guy named Garrett's disappearance. I looked him up but found only a single picture of him with Lexi, looking intimate, at a party early in their freshman year.

More photos showed Ethan at various campus events, always on the periphery, watching and observing. In some, he was with Garrett, the two of them looking like typical college students, but the tension in Ethan's posture suggested something more.

Bank statements and phone records hinted at an erratic lifestyle post-college, with unexplained large deposits and calls to unknown numbers in the dead of night. It was as if Ethan was trying to erase his tracks, staying one step ahead of something - or someone.

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